


i think i hear god calling my name

by derogatory



Category: Homestuck, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, F/F, F/M, spnstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 22:06:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derogatory/pseuds/derogatory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You watch your sister slap eyes on you, eyes only a few shades from a crossroads deal herself, smirk as deep as the void she threw herself headlong into. You’ve had enough demons taunt you about the dark magyyks in your family, the likelihood one of you is going to slip. Roxy’s making her home in the void and you wish to god she’d left the Colt behind so you didn’t have to see it up close.</p><p>“Hi cuties,” she mumbles through smudged lipstick and bullet stares. “Why don’t I buy you a Grand Slam.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	i think i hear god calling my name

**Author's Note:**

> Birthday gift to myself, fic set in the [spnstuck verse, created by anxiousAnarchist and isozyme](http://isozyme.tumblr.com/tagged/spnstuck), based on Supernatural and Homestuck. I got impatient waiting to learn about the about alpha kids. look its my birthday i do what i want.

Complications arose, but that's always the way. You shouldn't trust a demon as far as you can throw them, and you've been making exceptions because Terezi liked to be tossed. Vriska isn't biting, not in the same way, and you played right into her hands with John. She's not going to help you set her favorite pet free in the wild, you mistakenly thought Karkat was the only demon you had to contend with. Leave it to John for being too popular with all the wrong crowds.

Unfortunately, you don't just dispatch Vriska like any other normal, god-fearing demon. The one's with titles are the ones you can't be afraid of, that's how you learned, that's how you stayed safe and sane, but Terezi has to go and drop a bombshell on the group of you like that.

Dave opens the trunk to point to each and every weapon (this serves as an inventory check as well as a fatality check), asking Terezi which will work to kill the bitch queen of the underworld. The answers range from 'nope’ to 'nah' to 'This isn't wasting valuable time or anything, she said _nothing_.' The last one might've been an interjection by Sollux.

"Leave it to you to date something as unkillable as a roach," you say, leaning against the driver’s side. Terezi's eyes flicker to you like there's more to say, like maybe she had a hand in this un-killability beyond basic understanding of it (maybe they share it) when Sollux interjects.

"Not to be googling while you guys are flaunting the weapons cache, but you get there's something to kill the un-killable, right?" He hasn't been with you long enough to know Dave's warning looks, and his body's got a case of nearsightedness so bad he won't notice the hair on your arms standing up-

"What about the Colt?"

"Not going there," Dave crosses the gravel to your computer friend, trying to catch him by his upper arm, tug him as far from you before your fists make clear all over his face why you're not having this discussion. Instead of your fists, someone gives him the literal explanation.

"They don't have it anymore," Terezi supplies, avoiding your eyes now. What doesn't a boy share with his crossroads demon, you wonder. "Somebody stole it."

 _That_ surprises you, because you can't imagine they were running around together before you showed up long enough to spill those kinds of secrets. Or maybe Dave's more insecure about the breakup than you originally imagined.  
\--

 

Grandma English was dead, Mom was on long book tours that left the children free to be teenagers and for a brief spat of time there was a dichotomy in the household, of hunters and students. You can't forgive what happened to the woman who taught you the importance of a salt circle, how to outdraw anyone in the tri-county area. You know Dave feels the same way too. But with her death the house splits, and there are two other siblings with outside interests, who are less than thankful, who seem like they can forget. One half used her absence to dive into hunting, the other dove into typical teen life.

You should've known there was a problem when during a nighttime look out Roxy was always more interested in the stars than safety.

Dirk can explain their side of the story patiently, that they didn't ask to be born into this life, that they were better suited for other things. He wouldn't demean another person's choices over theirs, he had a detailed pros and cons list before you brought your concerns to him. Roxy would let you get worked up twofold before she'd swing back at you with a bottle. They were going away to college- far away. They were getting out. The old lady's dead, they were free to be whatever they want and they didn’t want to be with you.

You point out her following in another old broad's footsteps isn't really freedom of choice, is it? That bottle nearly hits you on their way out. You never see them again.

Never in this case meaning rarely. Dave wasn't home the night the first and only night they came back from college, sometime after winter break would've ended, on a school night for good little co-eds.

The house had shook with the force of the door, the intruder gliding over the traps in a panicked set of deliberate footsteps. You laid as still as a pounding heart could manage, Jade curled under an arm until the screaming started.

Dirk had his hands on her shoulders, they were shouting at the same time, they were covered in blood (none of it theirs, wrong colors) and you couldn't move from the top of the stairs. She was drunk and screaming about angels and a twin, about the void. He was smearing more blood over her eyes, telling her that he had a plan, they can fix it. Just like you left them. They'd become sick, stilted caricature of themselves in your absence and it broke your heart half as much as it scared you.

When Roxy fell on the last few steps to the cellar, you made your presence known in the doorway, knife in hand. Your sister rests her weight on one good ankle and turns, a well hidden and legendary gun pointed between your eyes.

"We're busy, Rosie," she hisses, like a cat a few steps from being put down. Dirk stands between you, but there's no point in it, it's too far a distance for either to do any harm on the other. Roxy knows the worth of the bullets in that gun, the ease with which she could've killed you. It's not a job for the Colt. 

The school contacted your house several months later. They both had racked a sizable tuition debt, they hadn't been to classes, their roommates assumed they moved back home.

"No," you intoned over the house quiet. "They're busy."  
\--

 

Dave never lost his brother's number. That's to be expected, Striders are more about taking their fights in person, maintaining long standing contracts of mutual dislike to be settled by force. Ignoring your opponent is too passive aggressive for them, which is why you haven't seen Roxy's number since college orientation.

When it's just you and Sollux, one anxiously perusing the internet for alternatives, you use his phone to call.

He knows it’s you, Dave wouldn't call without a text. He doesn't hate the same way you do. 

"She's passed out in front of Casa Erotica." There's a long enough pause and good enough blood in your past to hold up your end of the bargain.

"He's in the shower." You glance to the bathroom door to make sure you can still hear water, the quiet growl of Terezi's laugh. "We need the Colt." 

"We're using it." Dirk still has a practiced way of speaking, the ease of dismissals and belittling statements that Dave can only manage with genuine dislike of his target. "Would you like to apply for a time share? The next time its available is when you pry it from our dead hands."

The conversation is over then, a bit of specifics where to find each other if they want to speed up those conditions, don't call us again.

"Where?" Terezi asks, emerging from the bathroom with a towel over her hair and not much else. You don't know if her breed of demon has super hearing, or she's been on the team (since when has it been a team) she gets how you think. Dave takes back his phone slowly, turning it between his hands like he's not sure he believes his brother's voice came from something so small.

"Poughkeepsie."

Dave whistles low, crashing onto the mattress beside Sollux. "Well fuck. Go that far, we lose them."

"Vriska doesn't want us to lose her," Terezi says. "It's not how she plays."  
\--

 

Just before breakfast, Dirk and Roxy kick in their hotel room door. Dave has the forethought to slide out of the bed- like sleeping on the floor, naked is somehow less embarrassing than being spooned by the two ladies in his life. Dirk leans over to turn the lights on, to fix a grumbling Sollux with a cautious stare. Roxy stands at his shoulder, sunrise behind hers and a fresh red across her face from something other than blushing.

Dave staggers to his feet, pulling a pillow to cover himself.

“Thought you were in Poughkeepsie.”

“Thought you weren’t the deal making type.” Dirk holds the illustrious honor of being able to shut Dave up faster than most. In their silence, you watch your sister slap eyes on you, eyes only a few shades from a crossroads deal herself, smirk as deep as the void she threw herself headlong into. You’ve had enough demons taunt you about the dark magyyks in your family, the likelihood one of you is going to slip. Roxy’s making her home in the void and you wish to god she’d left the Colt behind so you didn’t have to see it up close.

“Hi cuties,” she mumbles through smudged lipstick and bullet stares. “Why don’t I buy you a Grand Slam.”  
\--

 

You’re halfway through the Denny’s menu before anybody talks. Dirk’s never been forthright about their plans, so when “We’re out of leads” is the only explanation they supply for helping you, you don’t question it. 

Roxy won’t show you the Colt, “But why would I submit myself to your sour puss if I didn’t have it?”

“Use any of the bullets yet?” Dave asks, mouthful of bacon. On their siblings’ bill, they order half the specials with a side of everything.

“One,” Dirk says and his tone implies there won’t be any details. He’s been watching Terezi the entire time, crammed into the space across from his brother but fixing eyes on her dead stare. He won’t ask just yet, he probably doesn’t want to know. If Terezi notices she hasn’t given much of an indication. Dave tried to hold her hand at one point- there are half crescent shaped scars along his palm from the last time they attempted some genuine displays of affection. She doesn’t love the same way, you have the marks on your back to prove it.

Roxy has her feet kicked up into Sollux’s lap and he’s pushing an omelette in enough circles its congealing into egg soup. You want to touch him somewhere to settle these nerves, to tell him their apprehension isn’t from any danger, only something worse, something even more foreign to a motherboard on legs; family. But there’s no space to do that now, the five of you crammed near silently into a booth.

You hate the sound of chewing.  
\--

 

Vriska wants to hide and be found all at once. It’s typical posturing demon behavior, nobody is surprised for a second time that week. She disappears with John without a trace, save for the dozens of minions she left behind, eager to squeal with even the slightest torture.

“Oh, we’re torturing now?” Roxy laughs from their backseat when you return, wiping blood on the hem of your shirt as you pass the second car.

“C’mon, mom,” Dave laughs and Roxy beams like moonlight at the familiar nickname. He slipped up as a kid, mixed up a Lalonde senior with Roxy and the two have played along with the ruse for years. “How else do you get info from demons?”

“I don’t know,” Dirk looks through the passenger side window at Terezi. “What have you been up to with the body she’s been riding?”

“Enough,” you hiss, slamming the door. You drive on.

You try not to imagine the judgmental statements Dirk must be making as they follow your tail lights. You try not to think about how you haven’t shared a single word with your sister since she showed up.

You’ve heard all these songs before, and you’re not trying very hard.  
\--

 

Deep in the mountains, no hotels for miles, so you’ll park with brakes cranked and the seats fully reclined. It’s not comfortable, but you can’t imagine one motel room split six ways would be either. Dave negotiates that he’ll sleep in their brother and sister’s car, leave some room for Sollux to stretch out in your own. The body’s claustrophobic enough already. 

They make a fire, lament about nobody bringing the makings for s’mores. It’s a regular family camping trip! Dave jokes and Roxy howls with laughter long enough you’re sure you hear coyotes answer back. Sollux scrubs his shoe through the dirt. The smell of grass makes his processes ache, or however you refer to a computer sinus headache.

There’s liquor- it’s your sister, there’s always alcohol. Dirk doesn’t drink, but her loose tongue is contagious and when Dave asks about their super secret mission (you weren’t aware there was a point to their theft, you knew it wasn’t petty but thought it was more a precaution than anything else)- Your stomach flips at what constitutes as an explanation for their disappearance.

“An angel,” Sollux repeats, mouth drawn up in a thin, atheist line. “You’re hunting an angel.” 

“He stole my friend’s body.” Roxy shrugs. “We’re gonna kill him until he gets her back.” Terezi is doing that thing where she’s got something to say, like she’s winding up for a great reveal and if she doesn’t get your attention beforehand you’ll miss it, like the best part of a movie she’s seen a thousand times.

“Angels need permission to take a vessel,” she says pointedly, leaning over the fire towards your sister. “They also don't come in twins. It's a cherub.” This is a demon you don’t know, you make a mental note to fetch Grandma English’s journal from under the car seats.

“Close enough,” Roxy mutters.

“No, not close enough,” Dirk turns to face her, plucking the drink from her hands. “There are some big differences between a demon and a servant of god.” He's not the type to list all the contrasting points- well, he is, but you all know Roxy as the type not to listen. 

“The Colt will work for both of them,” she breezes. “I didn't see how terminology factors in. We get her back, angel or demon or not.”

“We get John back first,” Dave tells her, gentler than you hear him talk to any other girl in your company, like a soft reminder why they’re in the woods, subjected to her alcohol induced haze.

“If you catch up to this demon bitch fast enough,” she snorts and nods to Terezi. “Offense intended. By the way! How many years did you get, Davey?” Dirk hands her back her drink, this isn’t a conversation they should have in public, like the details of a crossroads deal are private admissions not fit for company.

“Fast enough,” Dave echoes, ignoring the question anxiously and scrubbing a hand over his face. "And what if we don’t? What about John?"

"What about him?” she says, a sloppy counter. “I'm supposed to give a shit about your possessed friends when you don't care about mine?”

“This isn't a fucking contest,” you snap, your first words to family that you had zero intention of speaking to ever again.

Dave’s always been the first to balk at a family fight, says he’s tired. He slips into the car and Dirk follows suit, stamping out a cigarette butt behind him. You’ve been waiting for them to strife, the knives drawn and the first fist thrown. But even older, Dirk isn’t Bro and their relationship is bound to change. You don’t envy the property damage when it reverts, when one side says something the other doesn’t like. 

Terezi clearly wants to follow, but she’s sharp enough to notice the crease in Dirk’s jacket, the understanding that the Colt can kill her as easy as a handshake. Wouldn't undo the deal Dave made, but it might ease some of his brother’s anger. She slips beside Sollux to misunderstand family together. 

Roxy gestures you to follow- you’ve had enough to drink that your feet move after her without thinking much about it. She doesn’t speak until the light from the fire barely touches your shadows. Even as kids she wasn’t afraid of the dark. Grandma English’s face turned whenever Roxy strode into the shadows with ease, came back from the cellar with canned fruit without a flashlight. You figure she heard the same things the demons have been telling you. You wonder if it’s kicked in yet.

“What do you know about them?” she asks.

“Cherubs? I really doubt they’re in the journal. How do _you_ know about them-” She cuts you off.

“I meant your new friends.”

You roll your eyes, “A crossroads demon and the internet. I’m not drunk enough to try and explain myself, not to you.” You’re not surprised she’s trying to elicit this shit from you. Dave made for slim pickings with her emotional vampirism as a kid, it’s not too farfetched to imagine she’d see if it affected you years down the road.

“You know, when I went away to school, I cried myself to sleep every night for the first month. I hated being away from you.” Being emotionally vulnerable makes you sick to your stomach. Roxy lives for the overshare. 

“We got along fine, thanks for asking.”

“I’m sorry about Jade.” This tactic affects you a little. 

You are a hundred times done with this conversation, with everyone being sorry, with seeing Jade’s crooked toothed smile whenever you close your eyes. You turn to go back to the fire but the lights out. There’s darkness on all sides and you can’t hear Roxy beside you, can’t hear anything other than the broodfester tongues. The only reason you know what they are is because that’s just before ghouls in the journal, under ‘F’ for fester because that’s the type of woman Grandma English was, to catalogue in a way that only made sense to her. It’s the kind of girl Jade was, or is, or maybe she’s perfectly happy without you someplace farther than wherever the campfire went. 

Something cold and wet and smelling like pine splashes you in the face. Your sister, who went far away and is now standing much too close, is dabbing gin off your chin. The light came back, enough that you can see she’s smiling.

“And people are worried I’m gonna go off the deep end,” she says.


End file.
